


Vita Nova

by GoodOldBaz



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Post Season 6, alone but not alone, he last lots of cats ok, he's a cat dad, new life, spring feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 00:58:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18560677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodOldBaz/pseuds/GoodOldBaz
Summary: His first spring without the woman he loved, Bright finds hope in new life.





	Vita Nova

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Morseverse Spring Fic Challenge 2019

He pushed the window open and breathed deeply of the cool spring air. It was the day after Easter. He always felt this day was something special - a sort of new start to the year. His bare feet shuffled on the thick carpet. His hair, unruly and curling from sleep, blew gently as a breeze pushed back the curtain and filled the room with the smell of the flowers outside. He splashed his face with the water in the bowl on the side table.  
“That’s better,” he said, pulling his dressing gown tighter around his thin frame.  
An insistent meow broke him suddenly out of his gentle muse. He opened his bedroom door. Prem, a gray tabby, sat staring at him angrily.  
“You’ll get your food,” he said, brushing past the little cat, “Give me a moment.”  
By now, a very pregnant calico, a young stray he had picked up a few weeks ago, and an orange and white male had joined the insistent chorus. He trotted down the steps and into the kitchen. It couldn’t help but be noticed that the space where once had sat the woman he loved, every morning, eating toast and jam, was now empty. The tapping of the spoon on the cat’s dishes called Muhammad, an extraordinarily fat, 13-year-old Turkish Angora, from his favorite spot under the sofa.  
“There you are,” he smiled, setting down the four dishes. He wondered how many more had have to set out once his girl had her kittens. He should have stuck with his tomcats.  
A few hours passed, and he found himself, now dressed in loose-fitting tan trousers and an olive green sweater vest, pulling weeds out of the front flower bed.  
It was rare he had a Monday off, so he planned to take advantage of it. Fate, though, had other plans. It had not yet hit 11 o’clock when the sky grew cloudy, and, in his eagerness to finish his chores, he was caught in a sudden deluge. He rushed inside, cursing and dripping, drenched head to toe.  
“Damn it,” he hissed, rushing to the bathroom for a towel. A string of even less savory words spilled from his lips as he pulled the embroidered towels from the cupboard to wipe off his face. He couldn’t do anything without thinking of her. Every ounce and inch of the house brought her pale face and gentle eyes to his mind - her soft voice and kind touch. He leaned over the sink, his hands gripping the counter so hard his knuckles turned white. He wanted out - away. To be free of the memories, once sweet, now bitter.  
Once acceptably dried off and changed, he found himself puttering about his sitting room, pouring himself his second glass of brandy. The rain beat rhythmically on the roof, the spring birds singing joyfully, giving no heed to the man who greaved, alone, save for a few cats, in his little house. His hopes for getting yard work done now dashed, he took out the vacuum and swept the floors. When he had finished, he moved to the kitchen and did the previous days dishes. After a few more indoor chores were complete, he realized it was well past lunch time, and he sat down to a cold ham sandwich with cheese, and an orange. He’d never gotten used to how difficult it was to acquire fresh fruit in England, after so many years in India, and spent a considerable amount of his funds each week on getting whatever fruit he could, even from private sellers. Half way through the cup of coffee he’d poured himself once he had finished eating, he heard one of his cats, who he quickly identified as his pregnant female Cora, meowing insistently from the sitting room. He got up, leaving his coffee on the table.  
“What’s wrong, hm?” he cooed as she trotted up to him, looking agitated. She meowed again, circling his legs. His hand shot to his mouth as he saw her turn away from him for a moment, what looked like bloody discharge around her hind legs.  
“Cora, dear,” he said gently. “Is it time?”  
She meowed again. He’d readied a spot for her in a back room for whenever she was about to give birth, and he felt a mixture of excitement and anxiety well up inside him. But something seemed wrong. Despite his attempts to lead her to the space he had prepared, she continued to meow unhappily, eventually flopping down in the middle of the sitting room carpet, jerking slightly in what appeared to be contractions. This wasn’t right. He felt himself go into a panic. He didn’t know how to help her. Then he remembered what he veterinarian had told him when he’d first taken Cora to visit there. He darted into the back room, gathered up the box and blankets he’d set out for her, and gently moved her to lay inside them. A pair of helpless green eyes looked up at him.  
“There, there,” he said, lifting the box and putting it under his arm. “We’ll sort this out.”  
He rushed Cora to the car, not giving his umbrella a second thought as it sat unheeded by his front door. Getting Cora to the veterinarian as soon as possible was far more important than if he got a bit wet or not. And he did get quite wet. The deluge, which had only increased since earlier, had him drenched in a minute.  
A ten minute car ride, made considerably shorter by his panicked driving, brought him to the vet’s office. In half a moment, he’d darted inside, Cora in her box, carefully hidden beneath his jacket so that she did not get wet.  
“Please,” he said to the young receptionist who sat at the front desk. “My cat,” he produced the box from under his jacket. “I believe she’s having contractions but something doesn’t seem right.” Cora still jerked, obviously in pain, meowing up at her master with wide eyes. The receptionist, seeing what was wrong right off, called the veterinarian and the two of them took Cora to a back room.  
“Please wait here, Sir,” the receptionist said firmly. “We’ll take care of your girl the best we can. But…” she hesitated, “It doesn’t look very promising.”  
With those words, Reginald Bright was left, dripping wet, shivering, and helpless, in the empty front office of the veterinary clinic, to wait. He paced, at first, but soon found a place to sit. He crossed his legs and lit a cigarette, his hands shaking. He couldn’t lose her. He’d been so eager for the prospect of new life in his lifeless house. He remembered the day he’d found her, dirty and ill, in his back garden, so soon after his loss. He’d rushed her to the vets then too. He remembered his surprise at how ready she was to accept his affection. It was like an angel had left her there for him, knowing he needed something that needed him. He shook his head. Did he even believe in that sort of thing? He didn’t know. But now he found himself, for the first time in what felt like a very long time, praying. He whispered in his mind, if only she and her kittens would be alright, he would… he hesitated. He didn’t even know what he would promise. Go to church more often? Smoke less? Give more money to charity? He huffed. Sentimental old fool.  
The wait seemed like years. At last, the receptionist came out of the pack room. He jumped to his feet.  
“Would you like to come and see?” she said.  
He nodded. “Yes.”  
With a returned nod, the secretary waved a hand for him to follow, and lead him to the back room. His heart beating wildly in his chest, he rounded the corner and looked down into the box he’d brought her in. His heart skipped a beat.  
“And you’ll be very happy to hear,” said the veterinarian, “That your little Cora has done something quite extraordinary.”  
He couldn’t take his eyes off the sleeping mother, and her three beautiful, wiggling, and remarkably large babies. “Oh?” he breathed, barely aware of his own response.  
“She’s had a male calico,” the vet announced, “Extremely rare! And worth a great deal of money!”  
He smiled, but truth be told, he didn’t really care about that. “She’s alright, then?” he said, reaching a hand down and gently stroking her.  
The vet nodded. “We think it was the size of the kittens that gave her a hard time, but she managed alright in the end. Lucky she only had three.”  
Bright felt himself awash in relief. “Can I take them home?” he asked.  
“Shouldn’t see why not.”  
He touched each kitten, one calico, one gray and white, and one tabby. “One male and two females?” he asked.  
“That’s right.”  
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” he said gently.  
“If you’ll be needing homes for them -”  
“No,” Bright shook his head. “I’ll be keeping them all.”  
The veterinarian looked a bit surprised, but said nothing. In a moment, Bright carefully carried the box outside to his car. He was shocked to see the rain had stopped, and the sun had come out. He looked around, the fresh new buds and bright greens glistening with the recent rain, and then down, and his box full of squirming new life. A sigh escaped his lips, a peaceful feeling in his heart, and he headed home.


End file.
